Silent Screams
Second Edition
By Lori Henry
Copyright 2008 Lori Henry
Smashwords Edition
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to someone else.
Cover photo courtesy of Microsoft Office Photos
Dedicated to my mom,
whose confidence in me has finally seeped in,
and to my dad,
for one brilliant idea everyday.
Table of Contents
Note: This second edition of Silent Screams includes a list of eating disorder organizations at the end. They are a good place to find help and most will be able to give you resources to help you cope, give you steps on what to do next, and set you up with a professional in your area. Recovery is possible.
Preface
This collection of poems was written during my battle with bulimia. Starting at 12 years old, I began a dangerous dance with an eating disorder that would take over my life for the next six years. I was able to hide my behaviour better than anything else in my life; I became the best liar I have ever known (until I met others who were also recovering and were just as stealthy as I was).
I took my first dance class when I was two years old and performed on stage only one lesson later. I fell in love with the exhilaration that performing brought and quickly got used to the fast-paced lifestyle that future dance classes demanded.
I tried new disciplines shortly after and was soon in the studio almost every day of the week. My life became a whirlwind of activity as I tried to balance school, dance, sports, friends and my social life. The busier I became, the more I stifled my thoughts and feelings until I had become completely numb. My relationship with food followed suit and I developed a strict regime that I thought would simplify it all.
But instead of peace I found constant obsession and a perfectionist attitude that would not let me rest. Everyday was a battlefield within myself to try and lose weight faster. I was convinced that my teenage worries were trivial compared to the much more “important” goal of being skinny.
But the toll on my body and mind throughout those years was too great and I broke down one day from sheer exhaustion. I walked into my school counsellor’s office and could not stop the tears that gushed from my otherwise numb state. Thus began my journey through recovery, relapses and eventual healing.
The years that followed were filled with Doctors, therapists and councillors, all trying to shift my distorted beliefs. It took me many years to sort out the damage I had done to myself, both mentally and physically. Spiritually, I had to start at the beginning and work on committing myself to life each day. With my mind bent on self-destruction, that seemed like an impossible task.
After a trip to Paris, France when I was 19 years old, I realized that writing was the only thing that had kept me afloat during the countless times I wanted to give up. I began looking through all of the journals I had kept from grade six onwards and found some really powerful, if not rough, poetry. I decided to edit them into a full-length book, more for my own recovery than anything else. It turned into Silent Screams.
Within a few weeks, I had amassed all of the things I could not say while bulimia had its grip over me. In time, I discovered that this writing could also help others who were caught in their own disordered eating web. I began doing talks in high schools, for youth groups, at seminars and at a dance convention about my experience. I found out how many people could not only relate to what I had been through, but knew someone who had suffered or was suffering from an eating disorder themselves.
This work led me to publishing a magazine called Beauty: You Define It, which was distributed into high schools and encouraged teenagers to define beauty in their own terms. It examined the media’s influence, body image and culture through articles, poetry and artwork.
I then found myself writing again, this time a column dedicated to eating disorders where I could educate, field questions and offer resources for people seeking up-to-date information. I was also battling the entertainment industry as I pursued my acting career in a business where looks mean everything. I am still constantly frustrated by the restraints the industry places on actors to look a certain way and be a certain size, but I am determined to succeed on my own terms.
I felt the need to re-introduce this book in the second edition because of the growth I have gone through in the last few years. Being completely recovered now, I feel even stronger about the importance of having a creative outlet in which to express what we have not yet learned to say.
This collection of poetry highlights the pain and fear that used to rule my life and is mostly addressed to the eating disorder itself. That little 13-year-old girl who was just trying to get through adolescence with some sense of understanding, could never accept her imperfections and flaws. Now I embrace their uniqueness and have decided to make only a few minor adjustments to the poems and leave the rest as they were when I wrote them as a teenager.
These poems are not scholarly; rather, they are an honest outpouring that I find can sometimes be left out of perfectly formed poetry. I love the wild abandon in which I wrote them, without the thought that anyone would ever read them, let alone published them. I only hope that, left in their original form, readers can connect with them that much more.
I am grateful to have survived such a terrible illness but am determined now to acknowledge the beauty in the world and in myself that I had once blocked from my own view.
May no one’s screams go unheard.
Lori Henry
Vancouver, 2008
She
As day conspires into night
and the household retires to sleep,
she is left in complete and utter silence.
The journey within reveals
her tortured soul as it awaits its nourishment,
hungrily anxious to devour
the constraint it exercised throughout the day.
The night’s stillness opens doors
into the unexpected,
the dark corners of a young girl’s mind
as she lies in bed, half asleep,
listening to the voices that have taken
her mind hostage:
they direct her to follow them,
a melody so sweet she cannot resist
the comfort it chants in her ear.
She creeps down the staircase
lost in a fog of swirling conflict,
fighting the voices who will not allow her
to awaken pure.
But the voices shift into distorted sounds,
images of daunting T.V. shows, horror films,
repeating themselves like
a maniacally skipping CD.
The natural impulse to feed her starving body
has turned into a nightmare of
unyielding cravings again tonight.
Descending onto the final stair
she can almost smell the sweet aroma of fulfillment.
The kitchen draws nearer
and the images more vivid-
the only thought that enters her mind
is the need to consume.
In the darkness of night
the freezer opens,
then the fridge;
the microwave hums to life.
Her taste buds are already savouring the flavours
before they slide down her throat
into her ailing body.
But wait-
she hears a door,
then footsteps.
She is sure of her intruder
and the threat of being caught-
blind terror paralyses her limbs,
stopping time in its tracks.
The noises cease.
All she hears is the beating of her own heart
and the quickness of her breath.
Back to the task at hand.
Filling her soul with the rich substance
of fulfilled desire,
the feeling of not being lonely anymore;
all of her needs subside
except for the simple action of hand to mouth;
the guilt that festers inside of her
burns deeper than she will ever show.
But back there she will go,
night after night,
craving something to ease her hollow pain.
The tension rises in her gut
as she realizes what she has done;
all of her hopes and dreams vanish
with the thought of gaining weight.
Violent panic seizes her tired body-
there is no other choice,
she must get rid of it.
Like a wild animal
fighting for freedom
she fiercely purges what she cannot say.
Then the moment of stillness,
calm,
relief.
But the mess lingers in her consciousness
leaving behind an irremovable stain.
Not only does she have a full kitchen to clean
but her emotional tissue is scattered
across the room:
walls,
the ceiling
and the floor all bear her shame.
Such a mess to clean up.
But the incessant voices
are not there to help her now;
their job is done for the night,
leaving her there, helpless,
to pick up her shattered self alone.
The sun shines through her curtains
as she hears the clatter downstairs-